


Of Dragons And Daedras

by The_Quill



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aunt-Niece Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-01-03 16:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quill/pseuds/The_Quill
Summary: Zenwa Goldarche's seemingly perfect life falls apart when a tragedy forces her to survive in the most unforgiving places one has ever seen- Skyrim. Tag along on this journey of self-discovery as she battles creatures, villains, Gods themselves, more importantly, her inner demons, and discovers her destiny; finding love along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: What belongs to Bethesda is theirs. My character Zenwa Goldarche is mine. Same with mods.

* * *

**Chapter One**   
**In A Foreign Land**

Although Skyrim in general was a cold place, but as luck would have it, the weather was pretty hot with a blazing sun in the sky, adding to the misery of an already exhausted Zenwa. She dragged her body through the dense forest, the hilt of her sword digging into the side of her waist. Her throat was parched and it had been days since she escaped the gallows by a chance incident.

Really worrisome that an ancient powerful dragon, long thought to be a myth, had awaken and terrorized the whole village in which she was going to have had her head cut off, nonetheless she had that dragon to be thankful for. Her head still hurt from all the confusion and chaos her mind and body had gone through in the past few days, but she had more pressing matters at hand.

Firstly, her hide armor was wearing off, and her clothes had been badly torn off by the wolves she had fought earlier. Her wounds on the upper thigh and her lower arm, though healed by a mixture of some herbs she had found in the forest, were still fresh and hurting. She pressed down on them to ease the pain a little, the nightshade and juniper berries rubbing against her skin and hand. Alchemy was never her forte, but she never thought it would save her life someday. The aching stopped a little bit. Tired, she slumped her back against a tree and slid down. Her eyelids felt heavy and she struggled to keep herself awake. She fought the urge to sleep, and stood up with great difficulty, using the big rocks lying nearby. Secondly, she had to find a way to get out of this nightmare, before she died of exhaustion and lack of resources, not to mention the dangerous creatures that lurked the lands of Tamriel.

The forest itself was not so large, yet if one was not careful, the chances of losing your way and getting trapped in its dense growth was manifold. Zenwa had learnt all this the hard way. It had been days, and she still had no idea where she was going. Skyrim was a completely new place for her. She had only heard stories back in Cyrodiil, but she never imagined it was going to be this bad.

As she maneuvered her way through the branches, slowly but steadily, she started to hear the sounds of rushing water. Gathering all the strength she had left, she ran towards the sounds, hoping to find some way out of this forest. Sure enough, she found a large stream. The sound of water crashing through the rocks was music to her ears. She ran towards the bank, grateful, bent down and drank all the water she could in one breath. The water was not sweet, but fresh and enough to quench her thirst. Drinking till she couldn't drink no more, she rested for a while. Now that her thirst had been quenched, her mind went back to all those unpleasant memories she had shoved deep down, or had no time to think about, considering that some moments ago, she had been on the brink of losing all hope and embracing death.

Visions of her mother and father flashed before her eyes. Her eyes watered, and her lips quivered. She fought back the urge to cry, knowing that once the tears started to flow, it would be really hard to stop them. She let out a loud sob and gasped for breath, wiping the one tear from her cheek, which somehow managed to escape her weary eyes. She tried to block out the faces of her dead parents, staring in the depths of her soul. She gave up, gathering juniper berries for food; some thistle branches and twigs to start a fire, in front of a large tree. She ate a lot of berries, yet her stomach was not full and could've used some more food. She sat staring at the waters, her back against the grainy bark of the tree, till her eyelids grew heavy and she lay down on the hard ground, making a rock her headrest. The soothing sound of the waters rushing nearby, drowned all the memories in her head, if only temporarily, and lulled her to sleep, the crackling sound of the wood burning in the fire adding to the ambiance, only making the work of the waters easy.

Zenwa woke up suddenly from the pain in her stomach. As her senses came to, she realized she had slept for a long time; it had been a while after noon and the sun was beginning to set. No wonder she was so hungry. She really was thankful to the nine Divines that no animal had harmed her during the time she slept. The fire was out. She was still tired, but not as much as before. Gathering berries, branches and twigs again, she slept a little early, so she could rise early and set out for her journey tomorrow.

The sun was shining really bright, and pierced Zenwa's eyelids, waking her up. She hurried, gathering her belongings and started to walk along the stream, hoping to find a village or town at the source, gathering a few berries along the way to eat and gain some energy. After four hours or so, and a lot of turns and twists along the way, she finally reached a road, and almost cried out in happiness. She started to walk along the road and saw a caravan approaching in the distance. She walked faster, reached the caravan a few feet way and motioned with her hand to stop. She had done so, when out of nowhere, a group of men with armors and swords ambushed the caravan. Before her mind could process it, Zenwa found herself too close to the scene, with no way to back out, and found the men looking at her. Although she couldn't see them behind their masks, she knew they were staring at her. And not in a good way. Zenwa was beginning to turn around to run and...

THUD!

A blow came crashing down on her head, and all she saw was pair of black hide boots coming towards her as she blacked out.


	2. Survival

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to Bethesda, except my character Zenwa Goldarche. What's Bethesda's is theirs and my character is mine. Same with mods.

* * *

"Tie the girl there," the Bandit chief ordered, pointing to a large apple tree; his grating voice, resonating in the silent surroundings. A heavy-built orc in studded armor and black hide boots dragged an unconscious Zenwa and tied her tightly to the tree.

"We will camp here for the night. Gorg, you go look for some game. Sevein, grab some wood for fire." The chief opened a large sack, and finding it empty, barked, "Thaeolin, where are the apples and sweet rolls?" He glared at the little wood elf.

"We...uhh..uhhhh...ate it?" Thaeolin chuckled nervously.

"YOU IDIOTS!" The chief growled in anger and threw the sack on the ground. He stomped around, looking each of them in the face. "Listen here, you little milk-drinkers, the next time I find any of you disobeying me, I'll personally cut off your fingers one by one, taking my sweet little time. Now, GET TO WORK!" Everyone scurried off to their tasks, lest Chief really decided to stay true to his word, which rarely happened.

All this shouting woke Zenwa up. She blinked and tried to press her hurting forehead, only to find herself tied. She twisted furiously and gasped for breath. The ropes were too tight and they pressed down on her lungs. She looked around, her sword and armour missing and found the orc and the nord sitting a few feet away from her. They turned to face her. Be'jord smiled, his ugly yellow teeth more scary than welcoming.

"Well, look who's awake."

"Please, let me go, I don't have any money!" Zenwa pleaded. He bent down to face her, his long, hideous visage inches away from her. He stared at her, and she could see his vile thoughts in his eyes. She gulped and turned her face away.

"No no no, look at me." He turned her face with his rough hands. "You're so bea-" She hit him with her head, a stream of blood trickling down his nose.

"I said. Let. Me. Go." She glared at him sternly. She wasn't pleading this time.

"Hmmmm...feisty." He laughed. "I like it." He ordered Malath to untie her ropes and started to remove his armour. As the last turn of rope fell, Zenwa kicked Malath's foot and wrestled him to the ground, quickly removing his blade and stood up. He got on his feet with some difficulty, thanks to his bulky armour.

"Back off," she warned, brandishing the sword. The chief unsheathed his shiny blade. She took a few steps back and sprinted towards the nearby stream, like a galloping horse. Nearing the water, she stopped to catch her breath, when an arrow came flying from nowhere and shot her upper leg. She groaned and ran again, splashing the water all around her. Thaeolin aimed another arrow, this time at her head, which she swiftly avoided by ducking. She ran pressing her wound, the arrow still sticking out, her lungs burning. She disappeared in the outgrowths of the forest and hid behind the bushes underneath an oak tree.

"FIND THAT WHORE!" the chief shouted at the top of his lungs, quickly donning his iron armour.

Crossing the stream, Thaeolin and the group split up. Malath and Be'jord remained behind to guard what little they had from their recent loot.

Zenwa pulled the arrow out with one go, covering her mouth to hide her screams. Tears welled in her eyes and she took large, deep breaths to combat the pain. She tore her sleeve and wrapped it around the wound. Observing the large oak trees all around her, she bit her lip as she realised she had never been to this part of the forest. Taking her chances, she went ahead, deeper into the forest.

Night fell, the moon shining full in the sky. The howling of wolves could be heard in the distance. Malath cradled the fire. He straightened his back and stood up, hearing some rustling in the leaves.

"Chief, we couldn't find her. We almost lost ourselves in the damned forest, trying to find a way back here," Thaeolin enunciated, as he came panting towards the chief, putting down his long bow and quiver and crashed on to the ground; Sevein and Gorg just behind him. Malath grunted and returned to his job.

"All of you are useless. Idiots. Now, go to sleep, we leave first thing in the morning," the chief replied irritatingly, as he slipped into his burlap. Sleep engulfed them all, everyone except Malath, who sat still, alert and keeping watch; waiting for Sevein to take his turn for the night.

Zenwa rushed forward, dragging her limping leg, taking small strides, the moonlight lighting her way. Grabbing some berries from nearby bushes on her path, she kept moving forward, stopping for short breaks and then continuing. She huffed, pushing branches out from her red locks and face. She hid behind trees, trembling and took other paths, avoiding the pack of wolves littered across the forest.

After walking for four hours or so, she escaped from the forest and found a ruddy gravel road full of crumpled leaves. Letting out a sigh of relief, she continued to walk on it, the hard ground crushing her feet even more, but not her determination. Atlast, she saw a large half-open wooden gate with lights coming out of it. Tired to the point of exhaustion, she pushed forward.

_Only a few more steps_.

She sighted a small board near the entrance of the gate.

_Riverwood_.

She had just entered the village, when a guard stopped her. "Hey, wait. Who are you? What do you want?" He asked, pointing his sword at her.

"I...uhh...My name is...Zen...Zenwa Gold...arche. I...am...was..am-" She felt dizzy, and in seconds, she collapsed, hitting the brick pavement beneath; the shouting of guards the last thing she heard, before everything went black.


	3. Friendly Faces

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs. Same with mods. My character Zenwa Goldarche belongs to me.

* * *

"Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better," the man in the blacksmith's clothes said, handing the potion-filled chalice to Zenwa.

"Thanks." She gulped it down all at once. The stench and the taste of crushed snowberries, combined with garlic and slaughterfish eggs made her gag. She clumped her hands around her mouth, to prevent vomiting.

"I know it tastes terrible. My wife made this. She's umm...not so good with alchemy," Alvor apologized.

"It's okay, really. Thanks for everything," Zenwa replied, handing back the chalice.

"If you need anything else, my wife is here." Alvor smiled. He headed for the door.

"Thanks once again. But wait, I don't know your name."

"Alvor," came the reply, followed by a smile.

The door closed slowly.

Zenwa laid back down. The walking, the narrow escape from the bandits and the constant danger had taken a toll on her health. All her training back in Cyrodiil hadn't prepared her for this. Although her father had trained her hard, be it in two-handed sword fighting or archery; alchemy or blacksmithing, nothing could ever come close to what she had endured for the past few days.

_Father._

Her heart sank. The hole in her stomach seemed to grow bigger. She bit her lip and pushed her long red hair backwards, away from her face. She took deep breaths, but her lips quivered. She let out a loud sob and tears rushed down her face. Crying her heart out, she lay down on the hard bed. She tried to sleep; her face buried in the pillow, wet with tears, hoping that all would become well when she woke up.

_If only._

Zenwa woke up hours later. It wasn't a nightmare. Shouts could be heard from the next room, the walls thin enough to let it pass. She sat upright at once, fearing trouble, and scouted her surroundings, finding her trusted blade on the weapon rack on the adjacent wall. She got out of the bed, clutching her sides and staggered her way towards it. The shouting just got louder and now she could really listen to what was being said.

"I'm just trying to help a wounded girl! That's all. Why are you so upset about it?" This voice was familiar.

"We are struggling to feed ourselves and here you are, bringing strangers home and taking care of them as if we are the richest people in the whole damned land! Do you WANT US, your wife, your own DAUGHTER TO STARVE? HUH, YOU would really like that, wouldn't you? Been trying to get rid of me, haven't you?" This one was unfamiliar, raspy and harsh, but at the same time, laced with sorrow and regret. It was the voice of a woman, yet there was nothing feminine about it.

"She is just a girl, lost and wounded! What's wrong with you, Sigrid? Can't you show a little humanity, a little sympathy? And no one's going to starve, it's MY responsibility, YOU don't have to worry about it! You'll be fine," Alvor replied back with irritation.

_Sigrid. So that was her name._

"She is just a girl!" Sigrid squeaked, her tone mocking. "We don't even know who she is. Let me remind you that there is a WAR going on out there. She could be a SPY! The next thing we know, the darned Stormcloaks would come knocking at the door!" Sigrid shouted, furious at her husband's decision.

Zenwa felt a lump in her throat.

_What if they found out that I had escaped from the gallows? What if they contact the guards?_

Even if she told them the truth, the anger in Sigrid's voice was enough to convince her that the wife wouldn't believe a word she'd say. Not hesitating further, Zenwa grabbed all her belongings and dashed towards the door, only to find herself looking straight into the eyes of the kind man.

"Where are you going, kid?" Alvor asked, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion.

"Umm…...I think it's time I go. It's been long enough a stay. I'm really thankf- "

"Listen, it's been only three days. Your wounds are still healing. I doubt that you have even a few septims to your name. You look like you're not from around here, and I don't want you to get into trouble." Alvor sighed. "I have a daughter. You are someone's too." He walked inside and sat on the bed.

Zenwa stood there. Looking away, she quickly wiped the tears falling from her eyes.

"I am really thankful to you, kind sir, I am. I appreciate your concern for me. But I must continue on my path." She took a deep breath. "I was heading towards Whiterun. My aunt lives there. Do you know how I can reach that place?" Zenwa enquired, straightening her voice.

"Yes, yes, I can help you. Whiterun lies just north of Riverwood. Keep going north until you see big wooden gates. That's the city entrance. You might have to cross some stone bridges, but you'll get there. You will encounter the Whiterun stables on your way. It's a two-day trip at the most." Alvor replied with confidence.

Zenwa put her sword aside and sat down next to him.

"Thank you so much. But ummm…... there's one little problem." Zenwa said, scratching the back of her head. "I really don't have any money, and I need to get some supplies. Are there any good shops around here?"

Alvor smiled, the skin wrinkling around his eyes. "I'm a blacksmith myself. I can make some weapons for you, don't worry. As for other things, you can ask Lucan Valerius. He owns 'The Riverwood Trader'."

"Thank you again. Just one thing more. Is there any place here where I can find work for a decent number of septims?"

"There is a lumber mill in the town. It is owned by Gerdur and Hod. I'm sure they will hire you. Or you can ask Orgnar at the local tavern 'The Sleeping Giant Inn' for odd jobs. There is a sign in front of it, depicting the head of a giant."

"Yes, I pretty much got that from the name." Zenwa chuckled.

Alvor said nothing but she noticed that there was worry written all over his face.

"Is everything alright?"

Alvor stood up, pacing the room about.

"Can I ask you one thing?" He asked, his voice tightened.

"Yes, what is it?" Zenwa tried smiling but she couldn't. She shifted uneasily in her place.

"How did you get here? I mean to say, what happened? Because you were in a really bad shape, when you got here." Alvor's voice was filled with fear instead of concern.

Zenwa rubbed her hands together. "I—umm-I-I got attacked by some bandits. I escaped and walked till I reached this place. And you know the rest." She looked down at her hands.

_Please don't ask me anything else._

"Where are you from and what were you doing in the forest in the first place?" Alvor couldn't contain his curiosity.

_Oh no. There it is._

Zenwa was confused. Her eyes darted across the room.

_Should I tell him the truth and risk going to jail or should I lie?_

She looked at him and he was waiting patiently, or rather searching her face for answers.

"I'm actually not from arou-"

"Hello Uncle! Aunt told me I'd find you here. How are you?" A broad-shouldered Nord donning a leather armour came in the door, and hugged Alvor.

"I'm fine. It's good to see you." Alvor held him tightly.

"Uncle, you wouldn't beli-..ohh..." The man noticed the girl sitting on the bed, slightly taken aback. He looked back towards his uncle. "Who's this?"

"This is Zenwa. Zenwa, this is Hadvar, my nephew." Alvor replied.

She stared at the beefy man awkwardly for a moment, until her eyes widened in horror. She clenched her fists. Her body froze as she realised the truth.

"Wait a minute," Hadvar exclaimed.

"You."

It took no time for Zenwa to grab her sword lying nearby. And even less time for it to reach Hadvar's neck.

But Hadvar was a soldier. His hand instinctively grabbed hers and yanked the sword right out of her hand. He pulled and twisted her arm and held her by the neck with his arm. He pulled her other arm behind her back. Zenwa groaned in pain.

"Wa-what are you doing!" Alvor shrieked, waving frantically.

"She's a crimial!" Hadvar shouted. Zenwa tried pulling his arm down, but in vain.

"Let…me..urgghhh..GO!" She cried out, struggling for breath. But his grip only tightened, unaware of her wounds.

"Let her go, Hadvar. YOU must be mistaken. We can discuss this," Alvor tried handling the situation, though he was half convinced that his nephew may be right; his wife's words resonating in his mind.

"No Uncle, you don't understand!" Hadvar bellowed through gritted teeth. "She escaped the gallows when the dragon attacked. She's a Stormcloak rebel."

"No, no, I'm not. You're mistaken!" Zenwa shouted on the top of her lungs. Tears fell from her eyes. The pain was too much to handle. She stopped struggling against him and slumped her body. She could feel her strength leaving.

"Please let me go. I'm begging you! I'm not a rebel. I don't even know them," she begged Hadvar, amidst sobs.

He let her go slowly. The fragile body slid down and hit the floor. He looked at her. Despite every instinct telling him to kill her, he ignored it. He was a soldier, not a murderer.

Alvor helped Zenwa to get up and gently sat her down on the bed. She pressed down on her arm to stop it from hurting. He sat down next to her.

Zenwa stared at Hadvar who kept looking at her like she was an insect.

"I'm not a criminal. And I'm not a rebel either!" she clarified.

Hadvar was almost tempted to believe her. "But if memory serves me right, you were caught in the ambush, weren't you?"

"I was, but I was just crossing the Border," she mumbled.

"That's still a crime."

"You don't understand. I was with my parents and we were just about to meet up with the soldiers at the border, when some bandits attacked us. They…um..ahrmm," Zenwa cleared her throat, "they killed my parents and I escaped somehow _only_ to get caught in _your_ stupid ambush," she sobbed. It only deepened her sorrow, talking about her parents; but it was somewhat relieving to get this burden off her heart.

"It's okay," Alvor comforted her, taking her hand in his own.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Hadvar apologized in a low guttural tone, though he felt little sympathy for her.

"Uncle, can I talk to you for a moment? Outside?" he asked Alvor, who nodded in response.

"You go, I'll be with you in a second."

The door closed loudly.

Alvor looked towards Zenwa and spoke gently, "I think you should lie down and rest. I have to go now but I will send my daughter with some medicine for you." He rose up and headed towards the door.

"Thank you."

The door closed slowly this time.


	4. Holding On

The mill roared as it came to life, with Hod pressing the lever down with all his strength. He clutched his back as he stood up. Old age, his constant companion; he had grown tired of working at this point of his life. As if the last fifty years he hadn't slaved enough.

The morning was bright and sunny, with hints of cloud passing nearby, sometimes clouding over the sun and providing relief from its sharp rays, even if for a small moment. The birds chirped in the distance nearby, and winds picked up pace, slowly but steadily. But even such pleasant weather was not enough to cheer up Hod, for it was just another day in his mundane life.  
Huffing, he came down the stairs, picked up his axe, and was just going to hit the log kept in front of him, when a strange Breton girl approached him.

"Yes?" He asked gently. Despite his irritation, Hod never forgot his manners, a habit from which most nords of Skyrim were aloof.

"Hello. My name is Zenwa. Hadvar asked me to come see you for work." The girl replied confidently.

Hod looked at her, wondering whether such a frail girl could even lift an axe, much less work with it. She looked sophisticated too, not in her worn-out robes and a torn satchel by her side, but with her sharp-cut jaw, a small slender nose and big hazel eyes, like someone who belonged to a rich household.

"Can you pick up an axe?" Hod felt foolish for asking this, but he couldn't help it.

"I can also wield a battleaxe," Zenwa replied slightly irritated, her hands on her waist. She knew her figure was not so muscular, but she hated when someone pointed it out, if not directly.

"You're hired. Get to work. You see that pile of logs there? Cut them into smaller ones. Here-" Hod offered her the axe he was holding, "-take this and get to work." Hod hadn't much patience, and so he came straight down to business, a habit which ran in his family.

She took the axe and smiled at him. "Thank you," she replied, her irritation replaced with gratefulness.  
She went over to where Hod had pointed out- the area in front of the mill, where it was constantly spewing out large logs of wood with such ferocity and noise, as if the mill was itself fed up of working.  
She set to work, sometimes noticing the creek nearby, with fresh water running in it, full of life, with salmons and trouts swimming. The splashing of water and the groaning of mill dulled her thoughts, as she continued to chop the wood down, each hit stronger than the next one. Her wounds ached a little from the constant stretching of her muscles but she ignored it. And when it came to the point she couldn't ignore it, she took out a small vial from her satchel and took a little sip from it. It tasted terrible but lowered the pain and she thanked Alvor in her thoughts.

At a distance, an elderly gaunt woman strode around, her blue robes flowing around and brushing the grass beneath. She was the wife of Hod, and ran the mill along with her husband. Her name was Gerdur.  
Eyes like an eagle, and just as sharp too, with wrinkles round them; she looked around, inspecting the surroundings, hands behind her back. The old woman was quite strong, not in physical strength, but as in running the mill with an iron hand. She thought her husband useless, although she would die before she said it directly to his face. And so, she had taken it upon herself to see that the mill ran smoothly, just as it had run when her ancestors first started it.

The town of Riverwood wasn't so old, but Gerdur's ancestors were when they had found it. The town would have prospered too, if it hadn't been surrounded by bandits day and night, not to mention the problems which arose due to the outbreak of a war. Trade had greatly diminished between Riverwood and the neighboring cities. And now, the talks of a dragon being seen flying in the nearby mountains had sent the town into a frenzy. Except old Gerdur, who had too much of her own problems to pay attention to such silly rumors.

Zenwa was too busy chopping the wood, reminiscing the old days when her father used to teach her how to handle axes and weapons. Thus, she was startled when Gerdur suddenly appeared in front of her. She pushed her red wavy locks back, slick with sweat and wiped her forehead.

"Oh, so you're the new girl he hired." Gerdur smiled, without the warmth of one. It looked so forced, it made Zenwa shift uncomfortably.

"Yes, I am," Zenwa replied politely, ignoring her gaze. She looked directly into Gerdur's eyes. "And who might you be?"

"I am Gerdur. I own this mill, along with my husband, Hod," pat came the reply, filled with arrogance and pride.

"Oh, so you're Gerdur. I've heard so much about you." Zenwa smiled again. She wished the conversation would end now.

"And I, you." Gerdur smiled more viciously. "You're the girl who escaped from the gallows."

Zenwa gulped. She felt bile rise in her throat, the sour taste in her mouth making her nauseous. She forced a smile and a reply, "I must get to work now, it was nice meeting you."

Gerdur left, smiling to herself at her triumph. She never liked strangers in her town, and she disliked them even more when they emerged from Alvor's house.

Zenwa hit the wood harder and harder until she was tired and gasping for breath. Her cheeks glowed red from the fury she felt, the warmth in them enough to tell her to calm down. But she couldn't.  
_Alvor! How could you? _  
Her eyes burned as she tried to keep the tears at bay. She was furious at him and more at herself, for having trusted a mere stranger. She breathed hard and tried to clear her head. As the anger subsided, confusion arose. Alvor couldn't do this. It wasn't in his nature. She just knew. But there was one who could have done this and who would do this.  
_Hadvar._

Zenwa threw her axe down with such a force, it made a gash in the ground. She vowed to teach that bastard a lesson for going around, spilling everyone's secrets. Then, remembering how badly she needed gold, she set to work again, grabbing the axe by it handle, and chopping the wood, hurling curses at Hadvar. Hod paid everyone by the amount of wood they cut in a day. Zenwa had already cut so much wood but the prospect of more money made her go on, despite the pain her leg.

_The girl who had escaped the gallows._

These very words made her feel like a criminal, when the truth of the matter was entirely different. She clutched her forehead, pain pounding on it. Now, she would have to run around the town, screaming about her innocence, and still, only some would believe it. She wasn't planning on staying in this town for a long time, and thus her secret wouldn't matter once she had settled in Whiterun. But Skyrim and her people were more complex than that. Word traveled around fast and it wouldn't be long before she would be declared a fugitive on the run and the Imperial soldiers would again come for her head.

It was afternoon now, the sweet smelling spring air replaced with slight chilly winds. Winter was just receding but hadn't quite left. The sun had set early and it was dark before Zenwa reached the Sleeping Giant Inn. She pushed open the door, tired up to the point of exhaustion, but the jingling of gold coins in her satchel satisfied her. Hod was a good employer, and paid his workers daily. Zenwa couldn't say the same about his wife.

_That old hag!_

Zenwa winced at the thought of her. She shook her head, casting aside these unpleasant thoughts. She walked in, directly to her room, which was just across the entrance. Orgnar, the inn owner, was standing behind the counter, wiping it with a cloth. He called out to her, "Dinner's ready!" He handed a bowl of soup to her and Zenwa took it gladly, smiling in return. She sat down at one of the tables, and drank the soup in a big gulp, missing the snowberry crostatas and sweet rolls her mother used to make whenever she craved something nice. She was hungry and hadn't eaten anything all day, except an apple or two; the soup hardly satiated her. That was all she could afford if she were to save for her journey to her aunt's house.  
Her aunt, whom Zenwa hadn't seen in decades, was the only other family she had ever known. Her mother and father had lived in seclusion in a big mansion. She hadn't seen many of her relatives, if they even existed. Not that she had ever cared, she was quite happy back then. A nice family, a big house, comfortable bed and other luxuries rich parents could have- what more could a person ask for?

And now, she lay here, in a hard bed, on a dirty pillow, with nothing to wear except rags and barely anything to eat. She had never imagined life would become this bad. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying. Tired, but restless, she kept turning in her bed, peering at the faded silvery moonlight coming in the window, until finally she closed her eyes, the sounds of wolves howling in the distance, lulling her to sleep.


	5. The Road To Whiterun

It had been two weeks since Zenwa had first started working at the mill. The faces she had gotten familiar with, during her stay, had only made her more miserable, and fueled her determination of getting out of this godforsaken village even more. No one said it to her face except Gerdur, but Zenwa knew what the people were thinking when she walked through the main road; all eyes on her. Suspicions arose but mostly people were interested at seeing a new face. The war business bought few strange visages to town and people were glad to spot a new one, especially one that belonged to an entirely different land.  
Zenwa's beautiful features combined with her graceful, slim figure set her apart from all the nord females of Riverwood. There was no mistake that she was a Breton. If her features didn't tell, then her voice did. It was no wonder then, people wanted to talk to her, but the fear of being seen by Gerdur was enough to keep everyone at bay. Everyone, except the little, shy-faced Bosmer who worked with her at the mills- Faendal.  
The wood elf kept to his business and humored her throughout the day while they slaved in the hot burning sun. Zenwa found in him a wonderful companion and a teacher. He was good at archery and in the hours of approaching dusk, they practiced in the large field across the banks of the stream, running aside the mill. She was a quick learner.  
Initially, Zenwa was hesitant to learn the art of shooting arrows. But after being showcased the many advantages of ranged weapons over melee ones, she decided that learning it would prove useful. There was no harm in it.

Both of them were working at the mill one day, Zenwa near the front and Faendal a little away from her, on the side of the pile of giant logs. It was a lazy Loredas morning, with mild weather. Small gusts of winds were blowing now and then, the thistle branches swaying merrily. The sounds of chopping and dull groaning of the mill reverberated in their ears.

Zenwa began to lift the next pile of firewood and set them aside. A large figure approached them from the distance. She clenched her fists, her face set in a frown, as soon as the man got nearer.  
_Hadvar! _She had never forgiven him for telling lies about her. _How dare he! _Even after she had clarified about her situation to him. He walked directly upto her. Her face reddened, and her jaw tightened.

"Zenwa, I need to talk-"

"How dare you!" She glared. "You had no right!"

Faendal jerked his head in her direction and seeing Hadvar, decided to mind his own business. He was afraid of that beefy Imperial soldier.

"I don't know what you are talking about," the soldier replied calmly, yet worry reflected in his voice.

"Why did you tell Gerdur that I had escaped from the gallows? Now, that old hag been's running through the town and telling everyone. They all think I'm an escaped fugitive." Her anger subsided a little, the calm in his voice placing an effect. Faendal now stood up and leaned a little closer, straining his ears to eavesdrop, but careful as to not make his presence known.

"I didn't tell her. Listen to me carefully. I need a favour," he said, gesturing with his hands.

Zenwa became irritated at him dismissing the subject but something in his voice made her trust him and she decided to drop the topic. "Favour?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. Uncle told me that you were planning to go to Whiterun. When you get there, I need you to go the Jarl's palace and deliver this message to him."

"The Jarl's palace? I hardly know anyone there." She chuckled and continued, "I'm going to my-"

"It doesn't matter, okay." He waved his hands frantically. "Plenty of people there to help you."

"Why don't you get someone else to do it?" she asked disinterestedly. Faendal now left the place. The conversation had become too boring for him.

"You don't understand. You are going there already, and most people here can't leave their families unguarded, especially with the dragons ab-"

"Dragon?" Her eyes widened, and a shudder went through her body as the images of burning buildings and the large towering mass of the dragon she had encountered, flashed before her eyes. "It's not the same one-"

"I don't know. All I know is that the Jarl must get this letter." He grabbed her hand and thrust a brown envelope in her palm. "And he must get it quick."

"Why don't you do it? she asked him curiously.

"I-I have other assignments to deal with," he sighed.

"Okay, I'll do it, but I don't have enough money to get-"

"Don't worry about that. Take my horse and I'll arrange other supplies for you. Here-" he handed her a purse full of coins,"-a total of 100 gold coins are in there, I take it that they'll be enough."

"Yes, they're enough," she replied in a flat voice. "Thanks."

"I'm just helping myself." He ran off hurriedly towards his uncle's house.

She stood there, looking down at the purse. Scared about the dragon, but happy about her luck, she bolted towards the inn.

"Leaving so soon, eh?" Orgnar's voice was full of sarcasm, but Zenwa had gotten used to it. She was too happy to bother about anything. She paid him and said goodbye hurriedly, the horse waiting for her just outside the town, at the bridge.  
She bid farewell to everyone including Alvor, Faendal, and others, with Alvor handing her a book titled 'An Explorer's Guide To Skyrim.' She thanked him and went towards the bridge. She mounted the horse, her satchels and her bow on the back. She hung a knapsack on the side of the saddle, it contained food and the book. With renewed excitement and finally happy, she started along the road to Whiterun.

The weather was nice, but after a while it got hot. It was afternoon, when she was halfway across her destination. At times, the horse galloped at full speed, and other times, it just trotted leisurely. The road was full of cobble stones, leaves strewn across it. The trees were a dull green, against the contrast of a bright blue sky, the sun shining bright yellow. The blowing winds carried a sweet fragrance with it, gathering it from the wide array of mountain flowers which grew densely in the wild. Zenwa cut the flowers from the tops carefully, so as not to weed out the plant completely, and put them in her satchel. Potions made out of wild mountain flowers, especially the blue ones, fetched a great deal of money in the markets of Whiterun. This easy trick to earn more gold was the kind courtesy of Lucan Valerius, after Zenwa had helped him with a few menial jobs.

She took few breaks, careful not to waste time, but enough to let the horse rest. It was a strong breed, with a beautiful golden brown mane and steady legs. She fed him some apples and gave him some water from her own bottles. They were high up in the lower ranges of the mountain, and the horse was too thirsty to have waited for a river or a stream.

It was really dark before she even reached Whiterun. Only a few more miles left, joy filling her mind. Sorrow soon replaced that joy, as she thought about her parents, the people she was supposed to reach the place with. She felt a deep hole in her stomach, and it pained. No, I won't think about it, she thought, jerking her head and tried to distract herself with the surroundings.

The night was cold and dark. A silence fell over the whole of landscape. No noise, except the rushing sounds of water in the streams nearby, and the occasional marching of a group of soldiers passing through the roads. She had set up camp, with little bushes and twigs around her, and a soft, dry ground on which she lay down. She envied the horse, who slept peacefully on a dirt mound. Sleep continued to evade her, she was too tired. So, she lay there under the gloomy dark sky, reminiscing memories of her home, back in Cyrodiil, the pangs of nostalgia hitting her hard.

Morning came, and with it, fresh hopes. With a feverish energy gripping her body, she galloped at full speed towards Whiterun, her hair flying in the wind, the horse too enjoying his run. The stables she encountered on her way provided her safe haven with fresh fruits and water, the people working there, friendly and welcoming. She paid them and continued on her way.

It was afternoon, when she reached the large, wooden city gates. Two guards stood at the sides, donned in heavy armors and helmets. They looked alike in their build and postures. She went up the stairs leading to the gates. She got off the horse and proceeded to enter.

"Halt," shouted one of the guards. "What business brings you to Whiterun? We aren't letting strangers in."

"I have a letter for the Jarl." She took out the brown envelope from her pocket and held it up.

They eyed her suspiciously. "Let me see it," the same guard commanded in his harsh voice.

"It's for the Jarl's eyes only. One of your men sent me with this," she replied, putting the envelope back in her pocket.

"Oh, yeah? Who's that?"

"His name's Hadvar."

"Fine. Let her in." The guard gestured tiredly to the other, who pushed the lever down, much to her amusement. She had just said Hadvar's name as an instinct, but hadn't known that they too knew him. She was still wondering about the extent of his influence when a loud sharp sound of metal bars cranking came, and the gates opened slowly. She thanked the guard, and walked in. The gate closed as soon as she entered, the rein of her horse clutched tightly in her hand, the creature itself behind her.

"Wow," she murmured. The city had vastly changed since last she saw it. The barren fields were replaced with houses and markets, greenery replaced with iron forges and workshops; brick and wooden houses with beautiful architecture laced the streets as far as the vision stretched.

A new fear gripped her tight- how would she recognize her aunt's house? Strange faces everywhere glanced at her as she stood there awkwardly. She walked ahead and remembered the urgency of the letter still peering out of her pocket. She noticed a blonde, thin lady standing near a blacksmith forge.

"Hello. Can you kindly guide me to the Jarl's Palace?" she asked the lady, who was bent towards the forge, pushing coals in the fire pit in front of her.

"Yes, sure." She turned towards Zenwa, standing straight-up, and smiled. "The Dragon's Reach-I mean the Jarl's place is at the far end of the city, in the Cloud District. You go straight up the stairs you see ahead of you. You will encounter a market place in the centre, with a staircase on it's left. Go up those stairs and you'll find a similar market place. Another set of stairs will lead you to a tall wooden building. That's the Dragon's Reach- the palace of our Jarl."

"Thank you so much...um-"

"Adrianne Avenicci." The lady politely offered her right hand.

"Zenwa Goldarche," Zenwa said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you. Well, I must get going now."

"Okay, good luck. See you again."

Zenwa walked towards the palace, after tying her horse at the forge nearby, taking her knapsack and satchels with her. Adrianne gladly agreed to keep an eye out for the horse, having a great love for such beasts. The streets were crowded enough to walk, let alone riding a horse.

Whiterun was a huge place, even for a city. It was divided into three districts: the 'Plains', the 'Wind' and the uppermost- 'The Cloud District'; each tier higher than the previous. Staircases connected these districts with a central marketplace for each district. Houses were made round the marketplaces, providing easy access to people.  
After much travelling and getting lost, Zenwa finally found the place. The wooden building was mighty tall, as advertised. The architecture was beautiful with woodwork and etchings done on the spires and the gates. The stairs led to a short, narrow bridge, with the palace gates at the other end. As with the city gates, two guards also stood here, with many coming in and out the place.

"I need to see the Jarl," Zenwa said, wiping the sweat off her forehead. She prepared herself for another argument with the guards as she had done before at the city gates, but to her relief and amazement, they let her in without saying a word. She walked inside and her breath stopped short.

The palace was even more beautiful on the inside, with chandeliers donning the huge hall and a large table set in the center, laden with delicious delights and wines of every sort. Four pillars with exquisite decorations crafted on the stone stood at the four corners.. At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, sat Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, on his magnificent throne which was decked with jewels and etchings. Staircases leading to the rooms above were on both sides of the halls, with two more at the far end of the hall, behind the throne. Zenwa stood there, watching everything with the excitement of a two-year old being given a strange new toy.  
She regained her composure and strolled slowly towards the table. The Jarl, a middle-aged man, tired of wars, with responsibilities weighing heavily on his shoulders, looked twenty years older than his present age. Clad in heavily-embroidered, purple-dyed fur robes and a crown on his head, he sat slumped on his chair; his alert dark-brown eyes, listening to the words of his steward, Proventus Avennici, a semi-bald man, seemingly older than the Jarl himself.

Zenwa had just reached the bottom step of the staircase leading to the throne, when a Dunmer lady dashed towards the Jarl, panting and gasping.

"A dragon has just been spotted!" she said between breaths.

The Jarl stood up abruptly, every muscle in his body tightened, but calm and composed in voice. "Quick, Irileth, take the guards with you, and keep it away from the city!" Saying this, the Jarl hastened towards his sword kept on the side of the throne, while the Dunmer dashed towards the gates, guards running behind her.

"Avennici, you come with me." The Jarl along with his steward were going into a room when he noticed a Breton girl just standing there. "Yes, what do you want?" the Jarl shouted at her. He didn't like dealing with strangers, especially in times like these.

"I have an urgent letter for you. It's from Hadvar," Zenwa replied urgently.

"Hadvar? Oh-yes, Riverwood. Give it to me." He took the letter from her hand, and read it, his eyes darting quickly from one word to the next.

The Jarl handed the letter to his steward as soon as he finished reading it. "We'll deal with this later. Give this lady something for her troubles," he commanded his steward, before darting into the room. Proventus turned to Zenwa, "Thank you. Here." He handed her a purse full of gold coins. She took it, and thanked him before leaving the palace.

A huge, monstrous mass of greenish-black scaled skin and wings hovered above in the sky, spewing fire everywhere. Zenwa stood there frozen with widened eyes, shocked, not knowing what to do. Below in the marketplaces, people ran helter-skelter, women clutching hands of their little children; with many houses catching fire. Smoke bellowed and the fire rose to great heights, the blowing winds encouraging it; the roaring of the dragon echoing everywhere.

It was Helgen all over. But this time, she was free. Free to run, or free to fight. And she couldn't let all this happen again. Whiterun had been her only hope. With a newly found courage she didn't know she had, Zenwa staggered down the stairs, carefully avoiding the fires, crowds of people and the rubble of structures falling down. She set her knapsack and satchels down, keeping the purses in her pocket. She gathered her arrows in her quiver and armed with a bow, ran towards Irileth, who with her garrison had followed the dragon, out the city gates, into the large fields below.


	6. Revelations

The dragon bellowed with all his fury, a fury that shook the very ground Zenwa and others were standing on. Arrows were showering upon the scaly skin, with little effect. The dragon landed finally after some time, with bodies of brave men scattered all around it. Many others were running for cover. And more were bolting towards the beast, after Irileth had sent one of them to call for reinforcements.

Earlier, the fields, lush-green, and filled with all sorts of flowers and berries, now lay barren with black patches all around; smoke and ashes everywhere. Irileth and her garrison surrounded the dragon from the sides, dodging from the fire now and then.

"Take the rear!" Irileth shouted to Zenwa. The latter darted towards the dragon's long spiky tail, and grabbed a sword from a dead guard lying nearby. She plunged the weapon into the tail with all her strength and the dragon cried out in agony, moving his tail here and there, knocking her to the ground. Furious from the pain, the dragon spewed more fire, its neck glowing from within. Two guards caught fire and started running here and there. Another one died immediately after he ventured dangerously close to the dragon and the beast bit him into two pieces, crushing the poor man's spine.  
Irileth dropped her sword, and recited an incantation, purple sparks emanating from her hand. She pointed both hands and shot bolts of lightening towards the dragon.

"I've got his attention! Quick, from behind!" she shouted towards one of the soldiers. The same man dashed towards the dragon's rear, dealing a crushing blow with his battleaxe. The tail fell on the ground, black blood gushing like a fountain from the wound. The dragon bellowed, its voice thundering and shaking the ground. It opened its huge wings, the membrane dotted with black blood from where the arrows had pierced. Little holes could be seen too.

Zenwa hurried from behind one of its wings and slashed her sword into it, cutting halfway across the wing, blood gushing and scattering on her face. She pulled her sword back and ran in the front, facing the dragon's visage. Irileth stood there, dicing the beast now and then, all the while dodging from its biting attempts. The dragon had lost a large amount of blood and had no strength to blow fire in the face of its enemies. They stood triumphantly, and with one last blow, Zenwa finished the dragon's tale, its head rolling away from the body.

"It's dead," Irileth said. The dragon was indeed dead; an exceptional victory. But not without a heavy cost. They stood there glancing at the lifeless bodies lying around. Except for two guards and a few soldiers standing and a few injured, moaning in pain, all of them were slain.

Zenwa stood there, the bodies reminding her of her own dead parents. _Someone's family lay there_, she thought. She didn't cry, but her eyes grew misty and clouded the scene in front of her eyes. She swallowed, tasting the copper in her mouth. The adrenaline rush she had experienced during her fight, now dulled down and she could feel the pain in her leg and her waist. She looked at her leg, and a huge gash was present from where the spiky tail had struck. The bleeding had stopped; dried, caked blood coated the wound. But the pain now grew in intensity.

Before Irileth could direct the guards to help the wounded ones, magical orange sparks arose from the dragon and flew towards Zenwa, surrounding her in a big halo. Everyone watched, awe-struck, as the halo sunk into Zenwa's body, her skin reflecting it from within, her body glowing like a star. She felt nauseous, and clutched her head, feeling the world revolving around her. She stumbled to the ground. She wanted to shout, but couldn't utter a word. She held her arms around her, and felt like her whole body would burst. At the same time, she felt an energy coursing through her veins, tingling sensations running throughout her body. After a few minutes, she felt normal, but excited; nervous, but brave; and stood up, searching her mind for an explanation.

"Ar-are you...the Dragonborn?" a guard asked nervously.

"What?" Zenwa asked him back, perplexed. She had heard this word before, from her mother's lips, when she was young. But they were just bedtime stories and she was only nine at the time. She clutched her leg. The pain was sharp now.

"The Dragonborn. I thought it was a myth, nothing more than a children's tale, but now, I think-" The guard stroked his beard.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it too." Another guard joined in. "They say, the dragonborns used to kill dragons and absorbed their souls. And they could shout too- say, can you shout?" He looked eagerly towards Zenwa.

"What? Shout?" Everyone can shout," she answered, still clutching her leg. The throbbing in her head now grew strong. She rubbed her temples. Great. As if one pain was not enough.

"Enough with this. All of you, carry the ones who can walk. Bring the healers and medicines from the city. Now, hurry!" Irileth commanded and the guards scurried away. She now turned to Zenwa, "As for you, dragonborn or not, you have showed immense bravery and strength today. Thank you, stranger. I will see to it that you shall be rewarded handsomely."

"Thank you, but I didn't do it for rewards. Whiterun is the only home I have now, and I couldn't let it burn to the ground."

Irileth smiled. "Come now, sera. Let's get you to a healer."

Both of them walked to the city's gates, Zenwa trailing behind the Dunmer. Zenwa smiled to herself. She was proud, and satisfied. The win brought a newfound confidence in her, and she felt like she could handle anything now. _What could be worse than a dragon?_

She gulped as a thought passed her mind. She wished she hadn't asked the question.

_More dragons._

The Jarl was seated on his throne, alert but sad. Although the fire had died down, many houses and shops had been burnt. The loss of life was even more. Proventus Avenicci was rounding up the figures, when Irileth approached them.

"Your Majesty, the dragon has been killed."

"Some good news, after all. Thank you for your service Irileth. But I'm afraid we also have other matters at hand." He showed her the letter that Zenwa had given him earlier. "We need to dispatch some soldiers to Riverwood. Two dragons have been spotted there. We must protect the people."

"But, your Majesty, the Jarl of Falkreath will see this as a provocation. He would take this the wrong way. This will make him think we've joined Ulfric Stormcloak and are preparing to invade Falkreath. Let's not take any rash decisions," Avennici protested.

"I don't care what he thinks. Riverwood needs our help. And they're going to get it as soon as possible. I assume you know what needs to be done," the Jarl said.

"Yes, your Majesty," saying this, Avennici hurried towards one of the rooms on the left, murmuring to himself.

Seeing Avennici leave, Irileth took it as her cue. "The men fought bravely today, my lord. It took many of us to bring the beast down. And this girl here-" she pointed towards Zenwa, "-we believe she may be the Dragonborn."

"The dragonborn? Are you sure?" The Jarl narrowed his eyes. He looked closely at Zenwa. "Why, she's the same girl who handed us the letter! Aren't you?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I am," Zenwa replied.

"Can you shout?"

Zenwa glanced at the people around. She wasn't sure what the Jarl meant by shout, so she kept quiet.

"A 'Shout' is a powerful weapon a dragonborn possesses. It allows them to harness energy and unleash it in the form of a...uh..well, a shout. Some people may learn it through years of training and practice, but it comes naturally to a dragonborn," the Jarl explained. "You should go see the Greybeards. They will teach you everything there is to know."

"I'm sorry, what? The Greybeards?"

The Jarl sighed. "They live on High Hrothgar. They are disciples of Kynareth. They are wise, learned scholars who live in seclusion."

"Look, your Majesty, I cannot just _go_ there. I have an aunt here in Whiterun and I'm supposed to go live with her. She's the only relative I have left."

"Alright. As you please. But know this-very few are gifted with a power as incredible as yours. So, you have a responsibility to use it wisely. And everything comes at a price. Remember this," the Jarl said in a low tone, raising his eyebrows. "You may go now. Thank you once again for your service. Irileth, give the girl her reward."  
Irileth took a purse full of gold coins from a servant nearby and handed it to Zenwa.  
Zenwa took the purse absent-mindedly, continuing to stare at the Jarl. There was an enigma in his tone that hinted at something else entirely different. _What did he mean? I don't mean to use my...my power. _Zenwa bowed her head in gratitude and turned around to leave, her mind still revolving around the advice.


	7. Encounters

Zenwa stepped out of the palace, her nostrils assaulted by the smoke in the air. She coughed, trying to soothe her throat. The wound in her leg started to hurt again, and so, she took out a healing potion from her satchels, courtesy of Irileth. The Dunmer had made sure Zenwa was given first aid and medicines. She had also insisted that Zenwa stay at the palace, but the latter refused, saying she had to visit her aunt.

After getting the address of her aunt by Proventus's help, who kept a log of all the residents living in Whiterun, Zenwa hurried along to the Wind District as fast as she could, with her limp leg.

Most of the residents resided in the Wind District. All around, beautiful houses and quaint little cottages filled the scenery. But since the dragon had attacked, all that now lay instead was rubble. Dust. Stones. Most of the homes were spared, and were now being used as shelters for the homeless and the injured. Even though the Jarl had sent his men for help, it was still not enough. There were too many injured and helpless people, with little to no supplies, not to mention the dead, charred bodies lying around. The chaos and fear that had gripped the people wasn't remedying as well. Hence, many able-bodied citizens volunteered to help. This also included the famous Companions, who were helping people get comfortable inside their own residence, the mead hall Jorrvaskr. 

Zenwa followed the directions given to her, as she made her way through the rubble lying on the streets. Her feet momentarily stopped, when she saw a woman in scorched clothes clutching a small lifeless body, her body violently shaking from wailing so loudly, that at one point, it looked like silent screaming. 

The child in her arms lay still. 

Dead.

A shudder passed through Zenwa as a thought came unwillingly to her mind.

_What if my aunt is-_

She shook her head violently. She won't think about it.

She tried to keep the unpleasant thoughts at bay, as she finally reached a small cottage. Volunteers, their hands full of potions and other aids were constantly rushing in and out the door. Zenwa entered, and spotting a woman at the kitchen counter violently crushing the snowberries with a pestle, approached her gently. 

"Um..excuse me, do you know where I can find Elvira Styne?" Zenwa asked. She bit her lip, thinking of the last time she had visited her aunt.

_I can't believe I am going to meet her after thirteen years._

The woman sighed, her back still facing Zenwa, and spoke, "You're talking to her. Make it quick though. I'm really busy."

Zenwa took in a quick breath. _This is my aunt?_

"Um..hi. I'm Zenwa, Zenwa Goldarche. Your niece."

The woman slowly turned her head around, her eyes wide. "Zenwa?"

Zenwa stared at her features. The almond brown eyes, the slightly bent nose, the round cheeks- every feature reminded her of her father.

She quickly took Zenwa in her arms, hugging her tightly. "I can't believe I'm seeing you! After all this time! But how? I mean, why are you here? Where is your dad?" She glanced over Zenwa's shoulders, her eyes darting around, filtering the faces coming through the entrance.

"Aunt El, mum and dad..they didn't make it," Zenwa whispered.

"What? What do you mean? Zenwa, look at me! Where's Harold?" Elvira shook her.

But Zenwa couldn't raise her eyes from the floor she was standing on. She felt her head spinning and bile began to rise from her throat. She swallowed, and taking a deep breath, replied to her distraught aunt, "They're dead, Aunt El. We were crossing the border, and some bandits attacked us. I got away...but..they-the-"

"Oh, my dear child, Talos have mercy on us all!" Elvira again hugged her tightly, patting her back lightly; the sweet smell of her lavender perfume somewhat comforting to Zenwa. "It's ok, child, everything will be alright now. You're here. I'm here." Elvira wiped Zenwa's tears away, and took her to her bedroom upstairs. After giving her slices of fresh green apples, Elvira nudged her niece to rest. "You've had a long day, dear. We'll talk later. You should rest now."

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Zenwa went to sleep. She relived the day in her dreams, tossing and turning in bed. Finally after two hours of restless sleep, she woke up. Faint streaks of light coming in the window dimmed by the passing moment as the evening went and night approached. Zenwa rubbed her eyes, and stood up. Lighting a sconce on the wall, she looked around. Just then, her aunt came in, the lavender scent announcing her entrance.

"Ah, you're awake. I hope you had some rest. I got some dinner for you. It's not much, I know, but what with the volunteering and all, It was all I could manage." She handed her a plate, with some steamed greens, a piece of roasted chicken and two slices of bread. 

"It's lovely, Aunt El. Don't worry. This is probably the best meal I've had in weeks," Zenwa chuckled and took the plate in her hands. 

"If you don't mind telling me, dear, how have you been? I mean, how did you get to Whiterun? To Skyrim? Why were you crossing the border in the first place?"

Zenwa took a big bite of the chicken and moaned. It was really tasty. "Aunt El, I really don't know where to start. So much has happened in so little time."

"Well, why don't you start from the beginning?" Elvira said, and after noticing Zenwa shifting in her seat, added, "It's okay, if you don't want to tell me right now. But you know, it's just that...I haven't seen you in a long, long time. And now you show up, telling me that my brother is no more. Every time Harold had plans to come to Whiterun, he would send me a letter atleast two weeks before. But this time, he didn't. He...he..um..excuse me..." 

Elvira stood up and dashed to the washroom to hide her tears. Her body rocked back and forth from sobbing hard as she clutched the rim of the water basin. 

Zenwa sat on the bed, staring at the closed door of the washroom, her aunt's soft cries coming from behind the door. She wanted to console her aunt, tell her that everything would be fine, but she wasn't sure herself. She clutched her head in frustration. Her stomach full, she got up and took the empty plate in her hand, and headed downstairs. 

A sight of people gathered in the kitchen made her slow her hasty steps down, the smell of medicines and potions hanging in the air. Clothed in tattered clothes and bandages, they were getting ready for the night, some sharing dinner among themselves, and some laying bedrolls on the wooden floor of the living room, which lay adjacent to the kitchen. 

She quickly washed the plate and rushed to help them, more out of pity than courtesy; introducing herself as the hostess' niece. Her leg hurt at times, but she ignored it, braving the pain, instead of downing a potion down her throat. She would save those for later or give them to the needy gathered in front of her.

As she got to know the victims one by one, their strange faces and accents capturing her attention, their stories slowly made her forget her own miseries. Although the dragon had burnt down their homes and destroyed their lives, their faces reflected gratitude rather than gloom, making Zenwa wonder about all the harsh stories she had heard about Nords as a child. 

She stood up and went to the window, silently watching the night outside; the moon glowing in its full glory, shining its light upon the unfortunate city and its inhabitants. The chilly winds coming from the window were refreshing but Zenwa had some matters to deal with. The Jarl's advice still hadn't left her mind, and she decided to share the events with her aunt.

She went upstairs and upon entering the room, found her aunt bent over her desk, scribbling some words on a parchment. 

"Aunt El, what are you doing?"

"I am writing a letter. I'm penning down all the things I wanted to say to your father but never had the chance to do. You know, you should too. We both could use some closure, you know. Since we don't have the...the bodies, I thought we could write a letter and bury it in the ground." 

Zenwa nodded in silence and taking a quill and a parchment, she sat down to write. So many thoughts swirled around in her mind, each fighting for dominance and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't write a single line on the paper. There were just so many things she wanted to tell them- how much she missed them, how she had spent weeks in a strange, foreign town, and how she had fought a dragon. The memories overwhelmed her and she took a deep breath to calm herself down. 

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Elvira asked. 

"I..I don't know what to write. There are so many things I wanna tell them, but I just, I just don't have the strength to write it. It's too much. I'll do it some other time."

The truth was, Zenwa didn't want to do it. She didn't want closure. Closure would mean moving on, and clinging on to her parents was easier than letting go. And she didn't want to write about unpleasant things in the letter. At the moment, unpleasant memories were all that circled in her head.

"It's alright, dear. I also haven't written something down. A few sentences here and there, but nothing more substantial. I guess penning down years of secrets isn't an easy job," Elvira let out a little grunt.

Zenwa smiled a little, "Aunt El, there is something I wanted to tell you."

And so began Zenwa's nightlong talk in which she narrated everything to her aunt. Her aunt's responses were usually tears and frowns, with smiles here and there, but things escalated when Zenwa told her about the dragonborn incident.

"What! You're the dragonborn? Oh, Talos have mercy! Oh, the Gods above have finally sent a hero! The Dragonborn! My niece is the Dragonborn!" Elvira shouted in joy, but her rejoicing stopped when she noticed Zenwa's face, worry and anxiety written all over it.

"What is it, Zenwa? Dear, do tell me."

Zenwa stared down at her palms, contemplating the Jarl's advice in her head. She finally spoke, her voice no louder than a whisper, "Am I brave enough? Am I strong enough? I feel like I will let everyone down. As I let my parents down. I couldn't save them." She put her head in her hands.

"Listen to me, Zenwa, darling. You think heroes are made in a day? You think they just wake up one day, decide to be a hero and they become one on the same day? No, they don't." She patted Zenwa's back and rested her head on her own shoulder. "And don't forget, you killed the dragon and saved people from ruin, from further damage. And your parents' death isn't on your hands. It was an unfortunate incident. Leave it at that. Those rascal bandits killed your parents. You did not. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"You really think so?" Zenwa asked with clouded misty eyes, her voice faltering.

"Darling, I know so."

Faint rays of sunlight crept in the room, with both aunt and niece watching the beautiful sunrise, streaks of yellow and orange donning the sky, taking over the gloomy hues of the night away with their brightness. As the sun rose over the sky, its light silently encapsulating all of the city, both ruins and castles, hope and relief washed over Zenwa's fears, a new determination rising in her soul. Like the sun, the Gods above chose her to transform. Both her ruins as well as her castles.

_I will survive_, she thought, smiling the smallest of smiles; the sweet smell of lavender comforting her too.

Author's Note: 

So, I know that washrooms are not mentioned in Skyrim, and wherever I searched about them, it was mentioned that buckets are kept in the corners of the rooms for the relieving duties, but I changed that in my writing. In my opinion, I like to think they have crude washrooms. It would seem weird that a civilization being this advanced would have buckets instead of washrooms. So, yeah.

Anyways, thanks for reading!


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